Several Years Ago

It was a long cold winter, and Vero found herself always haunted by a looming sense of anxiety. Dread hung over her as a constant companion, except when she could hide deeply enough in Jean’s embrace. Even then, she knew it would be waiting for her again when she finally emerged.

The Lady Catherine and Ser Elan left soon after the solstice. So that, at least, was off her mind. The majority of Jean’s other Velian allies also drifted away once the holidays had ended. Unfortunately, the Duc de Emmoi kept delaying his departure. He spent every supper with the vile earl and Father Ignacio. No doubt all bemoaning their victimization with one another.

The Marquise and her maids often kept themselves apart, and one of Vero’s many constant worries was that she was driving a wedge between Jean and his wife. The noble lady was always warm and kind to her when they did have occasion to speak, but that only made the guilt worse.

The chancellor, Ser Renaud, eventually returned after spending the winter holidays with his family in the capital, which allowed Vero marginally more of Jean’s time. Although a slate of illnesses seemed to have fallen on all the most inopportune people during the cold season, and it felt to her as though Jean was constantly busy trying to set everything right himself. She admired his work ethic, but she still wished they had more time together.

Vero filled her head with arcane equations from Aeolus’ books whenever she was alone. Anything that would prevent her mind from running under its own direction.

The spring equinox fell on a miserably dark and rainy day, so any celebrations were muted. Despite what the calendar said, it appeared that winter would be with them for some time yet. The sepulcher for Jean’s father was completed at last, and they reinterred his ashes there.

Jean stayed at the tomb when everyone else had left. Vero expected he wanted to be left alone, but when she asked, he requested that she stay with him. She knew that she ought to do something to try and bring him comfort, but she could not think of anything that would change the basic fact that his father was dead. She could only hold him and feel utterly helpless.

In the evening Vero had been sullen and probably drank too much. The day after the equinox was her birthday and thinking about it made her even more melancholy. She and Jean lay down together that night, but it had been quiet desperate love-making, and Vero cried herself to sleep when it was over.

The next day was brighter, and the sun even showed himself for the first time in weeks. Sunny it may have been, but the clear sky made the morning air very cold. Jean held her tight and that kept her fears at bay, at least for the moment.

“I love you.”

It was Jean’s habit to tell her that every morning they woke up together. She always longed to hear the words until he spoke them. Then the moment they had been said, they chilled her.

“Hold me tighter.”

When they got out of bed at last, Jean informed her that he had a surprise to show her. They went down to the stables where he told her the first of her presents was waiting for her. Papillon, was there waiting for them with a new tack, saddle, and spurs. Vero could hardly believe him when he told her that the horse now belonged to her.

“I had intended to give her to you once the weather was warm enough for comfortable riding. But as it’s your birthday I thought, why wait?”

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

“The first day of the Maiden. You mentioned it last night, don’t you remember?”

Vero shook her head.

“Well, you had a few drinks in you by then.”

“You didn’t need to give me any more presents.”

“I know. I wished to. This isn’t all either.”

He took her to the castle smithy next. It was warm there and he took her past the forge to reach the armory. When they were inside, he closed the door behind them so that they were alone together.

There were several weapons on the racks. Vero chose a sword at random and tested its balance before checking its edge.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Excellent craftsmanship. I can’t see any flaws in the steel, although I haven’t struck anything with it.”

Jean gestured towards a practice target in the corner. She rehearsed her attack a few times slowly, then swung with all her might. They examined the results together; the cut was clean and the blade did not seem any the worse for the wear.

“Seems satisfactory.”

“It should be. I’ve spent a lot of money to keep the best blacksmiths on this continent here. Do you want your presents now?”

Vero returned the weapon to the rack and fell back into Jean’s arms. “You don’t need to give me another present.”

“I’ve already told you that I want to. And I think you’ll like this one.”

“I love all your presents. I just don’t know how to wear most of them properly.”

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“Perhaps you’ll have less difficulty with this.” He directed her towards a chest.

They kneeled down and opened it together. Inside was a thick gambeson made of wool, a very fine-looking steel hauberk, along with an appropriate set of chausses and ailettes made from hardened leather and silk.

Vero pulled out the chain mail first and held it over her chest. “It fits me, I think.”

“I hope so, I had it made to fit your measurements. There’ll be a new crossbow to come with it as well, but it isn’t finished yet. As I said, I only learned it was your birthday last night. I know you’ll want it lightweight, so there’s a very clever cranking mechanism for fitting new bolts I think you’ll like, once it’s done.”

“This must have been terribly expensive, I’m not sure I can accept it.”

“You certainly can. Your old chain shirt was covered in rust, and torn in a manner suggesting someone had been disemboweled in it.”

“It was second hand. May I put them on now?”

“Of course. Would you like me to leave so you can change in private?”

“No.” She untied her dress and let it fall to the ground.

She was glad the garment was easier to escape from than most Jean bought for her. She watched with some relish as his eyes pressed up and down her form. Then she turned and bent forward very deliberately to pick up her new presents. She turned back and watched him stare back at her while she slowly redressed in a set of pants and a shirt that came with the other gifts.

When she was finished, he assisted her into the armor. It had been measured for her perfectly, and she was astonished how comfortable it was to wear.

“How do I look?” Vero did a spin and curtsied.

“Absolutely beautiful.”

He pressed her to the back wall of the storage room. He fondled her chest- though through the chainmail, pads, and clothes, she felt almost nothing. His other hand fished its way into her trousers and was much more effective. She let herself go limp while Jean held her up and kissed his neck.

Slowly, she slipped down onto her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing, my love?” he asked, with happy curiosity.

“I’ve just recalled a curious practice I once overheard your marshal and spymaster discuss.”

In the time she was mistress to the Marquis de Fer, Vero had learned that she was not the sort of woman who enjoyed elaborate gowns. They were difficult to get into, difficult to wear once inside, and difficult to get out of. The very idea of them grated against her nature.

It was astounding to think that Jean had considered the attire he bought for her previously only ‘traveling dresses.’ That notion could only have come from the happy ignorance to never actually travel entombed under so many layers of skirts.

Her maid had laid out the newest cream-colored monstrosity on the bed.

Despite her hostility towards them, Vero wanted to do her best to at least try and accommodate herself to her new life- and all that entailed. Everything seemed so wonderful between them while she and Jean were abroad. He won victory after victory, and was very attentive towards her while she healed. Now in this drafty and dour old castle, she felt trapped in a gilded cage.

The cold made her leg ache.

And the shades have found you again.

Vero watched the mirror vacantly, while Antoinette stood behind her with a brush and tried to work the kinks out of her hair. She marveled at the patience Antoinette exhibited, gently working each knot free. If it had been up to Vero, she would have just wrenched the brush through and torn out the knots, just to have the thing done.

Now her hair was past her shoulders. Jean seemed pleased by it, she believed, so she kept it that way. Despite how atrociously tangled it became every night.

It was important to her to try her best to attract him. Although – or perhaps, precisely because – Vero did not believe she was very beautiful.

Her face was fair, but her shoulders were too broad and she had too many muscles.

Too many scars.

Vero waved off her maidservant. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed and opened it. From inside, she withdrew her dead master’s long sword- her sword. It sat atop the new armor Jean had given her.

The weapon was unnaturally light, but remained perfectly balanced between blade and hilt. The scabbard was plain rough leather, and the hilt had no jewels or adornment of any kind to distinguish it.

She drew it. The blade was free of rust. Even without recent care, its edges remained razor sharp. Lines of runes, etched in silver, ran along both faces of the blade.

Vero attempted a few simple techniques. Her body still responded slower than it should have, but she attributed this to her lack of training while she recovered. Her range of motion was nearly uncompromised- but not quite. There was no disguising the fact that she had lost flexibility in her right leg.

She knew there would likely be no further recovery. Some injuries could never be fully repaired, no matter the skill of the surgeon. She was just thankful she could still move as well as she could, and as soon as she had.

She needed to start putting herself into shape again.

Is there any purpose with nothing to hunt?

Jean owned a huge territory. It was only a matter of time before someone on his land had need for a slayer. Even if it was easy prey, Vero wanted to be sharp. Perhaps putting her mind to training would even quiet the raging tumult that was always seemed to occupy it.

The shades gather outside the walls even now. You cannot hide much longer.

And he shall abandon you to them.

Vero returned her sword to its chest and allowed Antoinette to begin dressing her. The tailor responsible for crafting the monstrosity had given them both a careful explanation as to how to wear it.

“You seem fully recovered,” Antoinette remarked cheerfully.

“Not quite. I feel as though I’m moving a half-second too slow, and my right leg gives me less dexterity than it did before the accident.”

“Well, you’re unlikely to be required to fight anyone at a banquet- so I don’t suppose a half-second’s tardiness will matter.”

Vero sucked in her breath as Antoinette cinched the gown closed.

But she become accustomed to binding her breasts to hide her femininity, Vero supposed that she could also adapt herself to the inverse. Wearing the dress almost gave her an average woman’s bust- but not quite.

The hem was long and intended to drag along the floor, making it a certainty that she would endlessly have her legs tangled up in it. It had ribbons, ruffles, and other flourishes she did not know how to identify. She had never seen a less practical garment, and Vero badly envied Antoinette, in her plain dress.

“How is that?” Antoinette asked.

“You can barely eat in these damn things. I’m not certain why we wear them to banquets.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything you would like me to adjust?”

Vero gingerly made her way back and forth across the room, practicing walking with the hem dragging around her feet.

The tailor had instructed her not to lift the dress with her hands, which was her first instinct. When Vero asked why, she was told that it was unfashionable, and unladylike, which was the end of the discussion. Instead, she was expected to walk without lifting her feet, but gracefully, so as not to give the appearance of shuffling.

It was an esoteric skill she had yet to grasp. Not that she made much of an effort to do so.

She sat down on the bed. “It should be bearable for one evening.”

Antoinette sat down next to her. “I could tell them you’re not feeling well.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Vero looked over at Antoinette’s face, and it was plain that the maid was worried about her. Vero kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be fine, Antoinette.”